Black Forest Boondoggle?

The Black Forest has long been on my bucket list. Contrary to popular (non-German) belief, however, it’s not that close to Munich or other “major” German cities. So, for me it was relegated to a “when I have a spare weekend” status.

Why the Black Forest? Well, for me it's the idea of seeing a dense, creepy forest in the country so famous for fairy tales. A forest that got its name either from the tall dark pine trees themselves or the shadowy realm created by them and their accompanying fir and spruce trees.

The forest itself is a 160 x 50 km area that’s the origin of the Danube river (and the cake!). Today, of course, it's not the sylvan spread it was before so much of it was clear-cut. But with that kind of harvesting a rarity these days, the silviculture first explored in the 1800s means conservation efforts and timber needs are more closely aligned.

I decided to do an early spring trip when the small towns along the Black Forest Train route were less likely to be overrun with other tourists. And because the Black Forest is also the home of the cuckoo clock, and there’s a German Clock Route similar to the idea of the Fairy Tale Route, I thought I’d also try to squeeze in a last-minute cuckoo sight or two.

Call it overly ambitious and under ambitious at the same time.

The first leg of my trip was a FlixBus ride from Munich to Villingen. I’d read about the most scenic parts of the train ride and thought I’d be best served to start in the south, take the train north, and stay in the highly recommended scenic town of Gengenbach.

Mistake number one was not realizing that the FlixBus stop was not in the middle of town, but on one side of the dual township of Villingen-Schwenningen. The bus let us out in Schwenningen and, of course, the Black Forest train departed from Villingen. Once an hour.

The buses across town were also not so frequent, so I began a mad speed-walk across the two cities to get to the train. About 45 minutes into my insane march I realized I would have to run to make the train. 

Thankfully I had paused to assess my progress at a bus stop, and before I had to embarrass myself by breaking into a trot, a bus appeared and I made it to the station with minutes to spare.

Mistake number two. I took the train to Hornberg, mistakenly thinking it was one of the towns highlighted in the Cuckoo Clock Route. Adorable town nestled in the forest, with a stream and a castle ruin overlooking everything? Check. 

Hornberg Shooting Trail markers

But it was 2:30 pm on a Saturday afternoon and everything was closed, with no signs of cuckoos anywhere. Instead, Hornberg had a “shooting trail” you could follow. Hard pass. 

What I DID find in Hornberg was
entirely unexpected--a giant sequoia!

I had planned to spend a couple of hours in town casually exploring the sights. Instead, I did a quick sweep and hurried back up the hill to the station to catch the next hourly train.

Mistake number three. When I first got off the train in Hornberg I noticed I’d lost my Internet and phone service. I’m not sure why I thought they would re-emerge once I got down into the town, but it meant that when I got back up to the station, I had no access to a schedule or an online ticket.

Praising a still-papered society, I found the printed schedule at the platform and a ticket machine. But once I was on the train (still no service in that part of the woods) I remembered I needed to make a train transfer, but had no idea where or when. 

Having studied the map I had some thoughts on a course I could improvise to get me where I needed to go. Luckily I picked up phone service again just in time to avoid an unfortunate series of detours!

If you look through the window
you'll see a house with solar
panels. There were A LOT of
these along my train route.
So much for the
impenetrable forest idea!

Building decoration in Gengenbach

Gengenbach was a welcome respite from disappointment. It was just as cute as reported, full of Fachwerk houses and a lovely town hall that becomes a large advent calendar at Christmastime. 

(OK, one disappointment not to be there at the right time of year to see that.) 

The main street and square in Gengenbach

I walked around snapping pictures before checking into my room, then wandered out again for a few more pictures and food before collapsing for the evening. On Sunday I took advantage of the early-morning sun and quiet to walk the town again and relax before breakfast and the multi-hop train ride back to Munich.

Another tribute to the sun: hillside vineyards in Gengenbach

I would love to go back to the Black Forest someday, but would do a guided tour that involved driving through the heart of the forest and hitting the highlights of the towns along the way when they’re open. 

(I’ve discovered on other trips that in many small towns the stores and some attractions close around 1 or 2 pm on Saturdays, so weekday touristing is a better bet.)

That’s not to say it was not a good experience. Any time spent seeing new scenery and exploring new towns is time well spent in my book. 

But my expectations and my experience didn’t quite meet, which I guess was a good reminder of why I usually plan ahead, and a lesson in balancing the idealized with the truth of reality.

Passing Time in Prague

Ever since the early days of our German adventure--while we in Hamburg and I hadn’t started my exploratory adventures--people had been recommending Prague as a destination.

The architecture, the beauty, the people. All came highly recommended. But I had a list of conquests closer to home, so it was pushed to the “someday” part of the list.

One pocket of wonderful--this colorful synagogue
I saw on my walk from the train station to my hotel.

Well “someday” finally came recently, as I booked a weekend trip to Prague to see what this jewel of the Czech Republic had to offer. 

As I crossed the city that first afternoon, I admit I had mixed feelings. There were pockets of wonderful mixed in with what I had come to think of as “typical” European. Not unlovely by any means, but not special. 

I checked into my room (I had thought “Basement Rooms” was a reference to the relatively cheap room prices, but it turned out that my room and at least one other poor guest were literally in the basement of the hotel near the laundry room), grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed to my early afternoon walking tour of the city. 

The Powder Tower

Here is where things picked up, as our enthusiastic guide led us around the Old City, which was much more architecturally interesting and charming than what I’d seen thus far. I made a mental list of things to do later, but ended up spending time after the tour wandering the city and enjoying the atmosphere.

The next morning, I retraced my steps from the tour to grab pictures of certain places where I had wanted to linger, climbed the tower in the town hall for an expanded view of the city, headed across the river to visit a specialty Christmas shop that turned out to be on the grounds of the castle, and wandered back through a sleepy part of town that housed the Kafka museum.

By mid-afternoon it was time to get to the train station, where I settled in comfortably for an easy ride back to Munich. 

Or so I thought. 

About an hour into the trip I came back to my seat after a bathroom break and found a strange sight on my phone (having been an iPhone user till I switched to a Google Pixel 2 last year, I didn’t recognize the stricken Android robot image for what it was). 

I seriously thought someone had hacked my phone in those few minutes I was in the restroom! But a quick search on my tablet (which thankfully I had brought with me and was connected to the train’s wi-fi) revealed a system error. After following the advice in various forums to no avail, I returned to Munich and took my phone into the store the next morning for service. 

I ended up having to wait an agonizing three days for a new phone, worrying the entire time if I'd have anything other than memories to show for my trip. Because the irony was that I was in the process of uploading my photos for safekeeping when I took that bathroom break.

Indeed, while the first day and first half of the second day were okay, I lost my photos of the castle cathedral exterior, video of the beautiful bells ringing while I was up there, and some interesting scenes around town (including the infamous two figures peeing into a fountain outside the Kafka museum).

Despite the stress of the last part of my experience, I enjoyed my time in Prague, and asked myself the same questions of every city or town I visit these days: 

• Did it offer something interesting? Yes. The history of the city itself is enough, but of course the shared history of the Czech Republic and Slovakia is also fascinating.

• Was it a lovely experience? Yes. The weather was cool but comfortable and sunny, the scenery was great, the people were friendly and there was a lot to see and do.

• Did I learn something? Yes. That I should have booked more time to hit more sights! :)

I love Rothenburg so much I took a
day trip there last month to see my
parents' contribution to the town wall
after our visit in 2016

• Was it my favorite European city I’ve visited so far? No. And to be fair, it will be hard for any city to beat the charm of Rothenburg (medieval walled city with a torture museum AND a Christmas museum? c'mon!!) or the perfection of Strasbourg at Christmas. But that doesn't stop me from looking...

• Could I ever see myself living here? Actually, yes. Prague has a nice mix of modern convenience and old-world appeal. I could see us carving out a niche there. 

One more bucket-list item accomplished. So many more to go...

Munich International Women’s Club (MIWC)

When Larry and I first moved to Walnut Creek, California, I joined a women’s group. My first encounter with them was a brunch at a member’s home on the other side of town. And I mean other side (economically speaking).

While we were happily crowing over our nearly half-million-dollar quaint cottage bargain in the San Francisco Bay Area, at this brunch I was walking into a miniature palace, complete with multiple princesses.

The question of the morning was not “what do you do?” It was “do you work?” 
I finally understood the “ladies-who-lunch” concept and it was not to my particular taste.

Starkbierfest ("strong beer" festival) 2018

So, when one of my best friends recommended looking into an international women’s club while I was here, I was reluctant. But after some research I was more heartened to learn they sponsored a charity and had conversation groups and museum and hiking outings and not just brunches and golf days.

I went to a meeting on a trial basis. The guest speaker was an opera singer who used breathing exercises and vocalization practice to help us literally and figuratively find our voices as women. I was hooked.

But I started my job about six months after joining the club, so soon I could only do weekend or weeknight activities. Yet each time I come back, it’s to open arms and familiar as well as instant new friends from Germany and around the world. 

The MIWC has been a great counterbalance to my solitary wanderings, and one of the things I cherish about my time in Munich.

Gingerbread house construction
is serious business

We created these beauties for the children of our charity

The Munich transportation museum had been on my list to visit,
and with the club I attended a private tour which lent itself to
personal reminiscences of changes in Munich over time.

One hike took us to the Mittenwald area, where a geological phenomenon
causes the ground to appear in waves

This year we scored a coveted spot
in the Faschingsparade

We were a small but spirited group
styling ourselves as the International Queens

Wrapping It Up (almost)

We all make promises to ourselves that we intend to, but unfortunately can not always, keep. My intentions for the end of this blog were grander than reality allowed.

And since signs have been popping up everywhere recently, I will relent and not let it linger uncertainly, which would be a disservice to you and all the great things we've explored together here.

It also looks like there are very different adventures waiting just around the corner for me!

I'll keep you in suspense on that for now, but in a few weeks we'll hit the two-year mark on my time in Munich, and following that will be the official wrap on the blog.

Till then, I'll share stories of my recent adventures and some bucket-list trips.

Hold on, the ride's not quite over yet!

Keep Calm and Carry On

We've already entered 2019 and all I can do is look back and wonder where the time has gone. I mean, that's what we do at this time of year--reflect on what's passed and make plans to make a fresh start in the year to come.

So as part of my looking back in the last several weeks of 2018 I had several plans. I planned to do a post about the Christmas market attack in Strasbourg this past year and my experience there in 2017. 

I planned to do a post about the continuing snowball effect of "dieselgate" and how it flies under the radar in the face of all of the other late-2018 activities. 

Then, there was the Der Spiegel scandal as the ultimate irony in fake news. It, too, became yet another thing I would end up pondering offline, it seemed, until I saw a headline talking about the scandal and how it was related to the seduction of storytelling. 

It's something I understand all too well. And not just in my fiction, where it took me years to learn to let the stories tell themselves rather than try to force them along my preconceived path. 

When I was writing freelance magazine articles, I definitely kept my story's "angle" top of mind: from the interview questions I crafted right down to the modifiers I carefully selected to evoke the atmosphere I wanted to create.

For a writer it's so easy to fall in love with your idea, your words, your sense that your view is the right one--it's the kind of trap that journalist Claas-Hendrik Relotius says he fell into. He's not the first, and most likely won't be the last. 

So the MAGAs and conspiracy theorists will likely hold this up as an example of enemies outside the U.S. trying to influence American thought (and yes, the irony of this does not escape me). And though it would seem to further the idea that we can only trust ourselves and everyone else is out to get us, the truth is it will all wash away in the wake of something new. We'll shrug and move on to the next jaw-dropper, and the one after that, and so on.

Relotius doesn't cite a political agenda as his primary driver, but if he had, it would be understandable. In the past couple of years I have alternated between anger and isolation to keep my sanity. But as an attempt to be more productive I plan to embrace the madness. To talk about it, write about it, question why we think it's okay to say and behave in a way we would have never done just a few years ago.

Because even though it seems like humanity is sucking the life out of itself without regard for anything but the quick hit, I have to believe that eventually cooler heads will prevail. These last couple of years have been a series of battles, testing the limits of how disgusting we're willing to be to each other in the interests of a handful of horrible people. 

But part of my belief has to do with winning the larger war. I think people are starting to wake up and--even if it's only out of a realization of how they themselves are not cashing in on the chaos--a change is coming. A change for the better. 

We just have to hold on. For everyone's sake.

The Road Ahead

Here is where procrastination gets you. This was originally supposed to be a post about miracles, and now it's become my Thanksgiving post.

But I guess the two aren't mutually exclusive.

So I'll start in a place where it seems I am every year now: grieving the lost California landscapes I've traveled so many times, mourning the people who have died in these most recent fires, holding onto hope for the missing, and giving thanks for all who escaped with their lives.

And though I didn't think there'd be anything political for me to be thankful for in post-Obama America, I am thankful for the true nature of my country as reflected in the diversity of peoples chosen for office in the midterm elections.

As always, I'm thankful for Larry and Aji and my friends both here and at home, and each day that brings an opportunity to meet new interesting  people.

I'm also thankful for the writing group I've found that keeps me accountable and inspired and encouraged me to make new commitments to myself. 

Fortunately and unfortunately, it means I'll be shifting my writing focus solely to my fiction, and this will be one of the last posts before I wrap up this blog.

But now we get back to the heart of my original post. To be more accurate, it’s an extension of my last post, which talked about the miracle of my father’s survival after his accident in late July.

When I visited him in the hospital in mid-August, he had only just regained full consciousness and the doctors weren’t sure if he’d be home for Christmas. He had been diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury and the only timeframe for recovery was to see where he was after a year.

At the time, that could only be described as “uncertain.” He was confused about where he was and why, and largely immobile due to the hardware reconstructing his hip and leg on his right side. The resulting combination left him understandably bored and frustrated.

When I visited him in the hospital again in mid-October, his progression was incredible. I don’t say that lightly. He had become a whiz at operating his wheelchair and transferring himself into and out of it, his short-term memory was remarkably better, and his cognitive function was nearly normal.

Earlier that week he’d been on an outing to the movies, and during my visit we took him out of the hospital for the day to eat at a favorite restaurant, visit a railroad museum that had been lingering on his list of local sights to see, and stop off for some hand-made ice cream.

When I left, his rehab team was starting him on a regimen to get him standing and strengthening himself to eventually leave the wheelchair behind. They hoped to release him from the hospital before Thanksgiving.

Flash forward to today. My father left the hospital just over a week ago, and is trying to settle into a new routine of being at home and continuing his therapy. He has sent me a few WhatsApp messages updating me on his progress...and asking for my Christmas wish list.

So my last message of thanks is pretty obvious, and my Christmas wish has already been fulfilled. In a month I'll be home with my family, enjoying every second and taking none of it for granted.

And those are the moments for which each of us can be grateful as we follow whatever path we have that lies in front of us.

Putting It All in Perspective

I had intended to continue periodic postings on my job, but things at work quickly became a parody of dysfunction. So I've been struggling not only with what to share, but with my own next steps in resolving the madness.

Then, last week I received this message from my mom:

My father had been returning from his annual fishing trip to Canada. Each July for the past couple of decades, he and his best friend from high school arranged an expedition into the wilderness for a week. My dad would drive from Virginia to Ohio, pick up Gilbert, then they would drive to whichever town was closest to the lake they were visiting that year, and take a bush plane to their destination.

All I knew in those early hours was that they'd been in an accident. Gilbert had been killed. My father was medevacked to the closest city: Thunder Bay, Ontario.

My mother and sister flew up to Thunder Bay the next day, and my sister sent me updates via WhatsApp. It was torture being 6800 km and 6 time zones away and helpless. I'd snatch a few restless hours of sleep, only to wake up every time my phone screen lit up, and anxiously read the next status report.

Over the course of this week I've agonized vicariously through reports of my father's intubation, chest tubes, rebreathers, nasal feeds. I've obsessed over the swelling around his brain, and the numerous broken bones--including one of his vertebra.

My sister sent me a link to an article about the accident. When I saw the pictures, I had a flashback to the girl I was back when I believed in God.

all photos from TRCCTB.com

God, Gaia, the universe--whatever--clearly had some plan for my father for him to have survived this head-on collision.

Which of course made me think about my life and where I was and what was my purpose. We all say life is too short and uncertain. But until you get that unexpected reminder that hits at your core, those are just words.

Now, just over a week later, my father's physical injuries have been repaired, and he'll be flown back to the U.S. to begin the long road to recovery. The doctor says it may be weeks or longer before he regains full consciousness.

But his situation has awakened in me a renewed need to focus on what's most important:

• To surround myself with what gives me joy, hope, and energy. 

• To cherish my time with friends and family and make the time to stop and smell the roses. 

• To let go of the grudges and the irritation at things that, when it comes down to life and death, do not matter in the slightest. 

• And most importantly, my next steps must be to use my gifts in whatever way I can to actively make things better for someone other than myself, even if it's just one person at a time.

Every moment of every day matters. Make the most of them.